


Laughter in the night

by MechanicusBob



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 16:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechanicusBob/pseuds/MechanicusBob
Summary: The future is uncertain, the fledgeling Inquisition is scrambling for allies and fate takes a poor turn for the Inquisitor.





	Laughter in the night

Cold winds howled around Haven and the stone walls did little to insulate against the freezing darkness.

Racks of candles bathed the impromptu war room with soft light and exhaustion hung in the air. The meeting had stretched late into the night and the council clutched at whatever straws they could think of.

Craelar studied the war table amidst discussion of potential alliances for the fledgeling Inquisition. All manner of names had been offered and debated, none of which he recognised; the only thing that was certain in their minds was that contacting Orizimar would be an exercise in futility.

"Well..." Cullen yawned and tapped the vast map on the table, "it's a slim chance, but we could always try the Dalish; the Breach is as much a threat to them as anyone else."

"I doubt it." Craelar said flatly as he rubbed his eyes and continued to study the rough paths around Frostback basin, "half the Clans will see the Breach as somebody else's problem while the other half will be hailing it as the Creators coming to strike down Sh-Humanity. The most likely to help are Clans Drolmar and Septerra; they trade with Shem-... sorry, Humans more than most."

"What of Clan Lavellan? Could they not be persuaded?" Leliana strained herself to remain awake as she leaned heavily on the huge oak table.

Craelar sucked his teeth and his lips thinned as his eyes came to rest on northern Fereldan, when the clan were currently camped.

"*Maybe*. The Elders aren't prone to being reasonable but... if it might help us, I'll try. I'll start writing a letter in the morning but I doubt we're going to achive anything else tonight."

Murmers of agreement rippled from Cullen, Leliana and Josephine. Each lumbered to their quarters and bundled themselves in blankets to stave off the vicious chill of the mountains. Craelar was quickly enveloped by sleep and felt a strange sense of hope about the humans he had fallen in with.

..

Morning came and with it came the unpleasant task of writing to the Clan. Several abandonned drafts filled the waste bucket beside Craelar's desk; relations with the clan had been frosty to say the least before he departed and he had no idea how to even begin the letter. Leaving the blank parchment on his desk, Craelar fastened his coat and sought out Josephine, hoping that the ambassador would be able to help him.

A cleric stormed past Craelar as he crept into Josephine's makeshift office; he assumed that the chamber had once been a store room of sorts but he couldn't begin to guess what people in the mountains would need with such a vast cellar. Josephine rolled her eyes behind the Cleric and quickly composed herself upon realising she was not alone.

"Ah, Craelar, good morning." She smiled brightly despite the gloom of her office, "I didn't hear you come in... is there something I can do for you?"

"Um... yes. How do you persuade somebody who despises you to help you?"

"Ah, I assume you and the elders of your clan do not care for one another?"

"That's one way to put it." Craelar laughed shortly at the bitter memory

"Well, fortunately, I am well versed in writing such letters. Would you like me to pen it for you?"

"If it's not in Elvhen they won't even look at it. I need to write it but any advice you have will be priceless right now."

"Keep it simple. Start by acknowledging the schism that exists between you and try to appeal to their better judgement; people love flattery but take care to not appear sycophantic. After that, make your case but do not appear desperate, they may try to exploit your need if you do; try to also include the phrase, 'any support that you can provide will be greatly appreciated, and recompense will be given for any supplies or personell that you provide'. The prospect of payment can be a great motivator... If you like, you could write it here so I can help."

Craelar pulled a chair to the table and the next hour was spent writing, double checking, and adjusting phrases throughout several drafts of the letter.

Josepine watched the Elvhen script flow like water from the quill as Craelar wrote. Depite the aparent fluidity of the script, Craelar was dissatisfied; it had been almost two years since he had written in Elvhen. It was servicable but certainly rustic in its presentation.

*Honoured Keeper, I know my relations with the Elders remain poor but I am in great need of help from the Clan

I have joined with a group who seek to close the Fade rifts that have been opened across southern Thedas, including the Breach in the sky that grows with each passing day. We are in need of soldiers, scouts and supplies and the Clan's trackers are among the greatest in Thedas; any support will be greatly appreciated and fully compensated.

I humbly await your response - Craelar Lavellan.*

The letter was sealed and found its way to the Inquisition's couriers, all that remained to do was hope that the Elders would see sense.

..

Two weeks later, the Clan's reply reached Haven. Craelar's nostrils flared as he read the letter and spat a single caustic slur in Elvhen; the letter was written in keeper Deshanna's hand and bore her seal.

Leliana cocked an eyebrow and began to plan contingencies for the possible fallout that the letter could yield.

Cullen watched as Craelar took a moment to compose himself, he recognised the Herald's reaction all too well. Sharp breathing, a single curse and a moment to regain composure as the letter was scrunched in their grip; Greigor and Merideth had frequently had such reactions.

"I'm sorry. It.. it was foolish of me to think that-"

Craelar sighed and raised a hand to silence the commander.

"It was worth a chance, there's no sense in blaming yourself for her being stupid." Craelar screwed up the letter and threw it into a waste bucket before continuing with the meeting. Remarkably, there was little tension in the air from the Herald during the meeting and it concluded with Craelar calmly exusing himself and standing in the doorway until it closed behind him.

Uncertain glances passed between Cullen, Josephine and Leliana. Their eyes darted from one another to the iron banded bucket in the corner. Before anyone could speak, Leliana had retrieved the screwed up ball and began translating the letter. It was damning.

*'We know of your Inquisition, 'Herald of Andraste'. Not only do you fight beside Shemlen but you tout yourself as the chosen of their false god, this is a transgression we can not forgive. We shall not support whatever plot you have set into motion. Do not contact our clan again. You are of Clan Lavellan no longer, Shemlen.'

Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan.*

Josephine's eyes grew wide and Cullen's jaw fell slack as Leliana recited the letter before holding it to a candle and allowing the flames to consume the parchment. It had great potential for future leverage with the Clan but there was a time and a place for such actions.

Slowly they filed out of the small meeting hut and there was no sign of Craelar. Ordinarily his wandering was nothing to be concerned by but a storm was creeping towards Haven and it would most likely bring more snow as it descended upon the village.

Hours later, Craelar trudged through the gates of Haven, covered in snow and dragging small pine tree behind him. He placed the stout tree beside his stone hut, bolted the door behind himself and prepared to turn in for the night having finally exhausted his anger.

...

In the small hours of the morning, as Craelar lay in the darkness on the stiff matress, a soft knock on the door disturbed his rest. He growled in Elvhen and lumbered to the door; grateful for the thick socks he was wearing as he crossed the stone floor. They had been a gift from one of the few Elders still willing to speak to him when he left the camp. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness as he crossed the room, bringing everything into view in shades of grey.

"Yes?" He groaned and leaned against the door in exhaustion. If it was Cullen with another damned report, the commander would be discovered in a snowdrift when the sun rose.

"May I speak to you for a moment?"

It was Josephine. He wanted to tell her to leave him until moring but couldn't bring himself to dismiss her. The bolt slid free and the door creaked open, allowing a cold breeze to invade the small structure; snow was still falling and was several inches deep on the ground. Josepine stood in the doorway, wrapped up in a thick coat and carrying a large brass lamp in one hand. Craelar waved her into his hut.

She set the lamp down on the small table in the corner by the bed. Craelar tensed slightly as his eyes adapted to the warm yellow light that cast the far reaches of the room into shadows. He sat on the edge of the bed as Josephine sat on the chair beside the table, the pale scars of Craelar's Vallaslin shimmered slightly in the lamp light.

"So....you wanted to talk about.. something?" Craear rubbed his eyes and yawned as he spoke, he had no idea of the time beyond the fact that it was late.

"Leliana translated the letter."

"...."

"She burned it, I assure you, but... how are you? I know it is a foolish question considering the Keeper's words but..."

"Ah, don't worry about me, it was a matter of time before the Elders had the excuse they needed. They'll come around... I hope."

The lantern's light flickered and caused the pale scars of Craelar's vallaslin to shimmer slightly in the dim glow. Josephine had only seen Dalish elves up close a handful of times but their vallaslin had always been either brightly coloured or bold and black; Craelar simply allowed the scars to show and evidently made no attempt to colour them. Smaller scars from various fights and hunting expeditions littered his jawline and jowels and as the light flickered over them, Josephine couldn't help but note that they added something to his face. They were not the dueling scars so common among Antivan men, they were the marks of a survivalist. Of a man used to danger, excitement and- Josephine mentally slapped herself as she returned to reality and noticed Craelar quickly averting his eyes and clearing his throat, trying his best to look anywhere other than at her eyes.

The two shifted awkwardly for a moment before Craelar began to laugh softly, causing Josephine to arch an eyebrow at the sudden turn.

"No, no. I'm sorry, it's just... it's just the absurdity of it all" he chuckled again. "They Sky's been torn apart, Demons are invading, the Chantry's imploding and the world's best hope is a Dalish exile, an author, a grumpy Mage and a band of humans. It all seems like something out of a novel!" He laughed and laughed, his tiredness seemingly dispelled and replaced with life and vigour in spite of the daunting task he faced. Josephine could only join in as she realised just how ridiculous it all seemed; it sounded more akin to the plot of an Antivan opera than the cause for an Inquisition.

They sat for several hours, whiling away the last vestiges of the night and emerged as the sun rose, to muttered speculation from a pair of passing soldiers. Though the future was uncertain to say the least, both the Ambassador and the Herald felt better for having laughed at the chaos they were about the charge headlong into.


End file.
